


Phantom Traveler

by ravenditefairylights



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (please don't sue me), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Astral Projection, Doesn't matter have it anywaya, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Guest Star: Christopher Tolkien, I Don't Even Know, I am too powerful you can't stop me!, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm Sorry Tolkien, M/M, Maedhros gets more than he bargained for, Maedhros is depressed, Maedhros uses unhealty coping mechanisms, Modern Era, Suicide, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, and by both parties i mean christopher fangirling in the background, but - Freeform, but like, fingon (briefly) comes back from the grave to tell his boyfriend to get his shit together, in a nicer way, martha is a sweetheart, there are some tears involved from both parties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenditefairylights/pseuds/ravenditefairylights
Summary: Maedhros jumped into the pit, fully expecting it to finally claim his life. But he wakes up. And this world is not only weird and foreign, but very not his own too. But at least that drink is good, what do they call it? Oh, yes, coffee.





	1. In the beggining...

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is but have it anyway. Updates will be infrequent because I literally have nothing planned and I'm making this up as I go. It was an impulsive decision.

The wind rustled his copper hair, throwing the curls at his face, but Maedhros couldn't care.

He had failed. The truth hit him like a sudden force that knocked all the air out of his lungs. All of this, everything he had done, all the people he had killed was for nothing. The silmaril still burned him, scorched his palm black in a painful reminder.

Underneath him the fires still burned. It was a long fall. The falmes danced at the sides of the chasm, charming in that beautiful earie way Maedhros had always been fascinated by. But fire was only beautiful to watch, and Maedhros had made the mistake of getting too close. He played with it, drawn to it the way a moth is. And inevitably it burned him. It burned him because he failed.

 Taking one last deep breath Maedhros leaped down the chasm; finally succeeding in what no one Arda had failed to, claim his life. His own life. Would they be disappointed? Repulsed? Maedhros didn’t care anymore. He had only wanted to fulfill the Oath, to fulfill his promise. It was the only thing that kept him going.

The flames engulfed him and smoke was all around him but he felt no pain. He was beyond feeling pain. He closed his eyes, as a feeling of relief flooded him.

And then his face collided with cold, hard rock.

His first instinct was to scream "JUST LET ME DIE YOU BASTARDS!", but he refrained himself. Instead he raised himself up and looked round. The place was a cave, much like the chasm ought to be, only that the fire was missing. He was about to give Námo a piece of his mind about this trick, when the song, or rather its lack thereof caught his attention. The song of Arda that had been humming at his soul for his entire life, was gone. Instead now there was only silence. Which meant that wherever Maedhros was, the Valar couldn't reach him. No one could reach him. For the first time in his life, Maedhros was well and truly alone.

This time he did scream, letting an anguished cry at the top of his lungs. The tears that glistered in his eyes fell down on the hard rock.

He was alone.

* * *

 

 Maedhros almost raced out of the classroom the moment the bell finally rang.

"Mae, wait up!"

_Oh Eru, not now... Not today..._

Ben caught up with his and placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

"Want to go out for coffee?" Ben proposed. "I could really use one after that lecture; I swear I almost fell asleep!"

Maedhros disagreed on varied degrees with that statement, he had found the lecture terribly interesting. He did not say that, however. As much as he liked coffee, he ad neither the time, nor the mental capacity socializing required.

"Thanks Ben, but I really have to finish my paper for Cadwell's class." He lied. The paper in question had actually been finished for a month now, but Ben didn't need to know that.

"Oh mate," Ben gave him a sympathetic look. "Good luck. That paper is literal hell to write." He patted Maedhros at the back. "See you tomorrow then!" He clapped Maedhros' shoulder once and then he was off, racing to the doorway. Maedhros barely managed to yell a goodbye behind him. He turned around and walked towards the other door with his shoulders almost slumped.

Today was what Maedhros called his bad days. Truthfully, four out of seven days were bad. It was as if a grey cloud came and settled over him. The memories got worse, and the nightmares became more vivid. Maedhros remembered having to deal with bad days for all his life after Angband. But back then he had his brothers; he had Fingon. Now he was all alone in a foreign land. Admittedly, he was adjusting to this new world and this new life. He had appeared first into this weird new world when he had fallen down a fiery chasm in hopes of dying. Needless to say, that had not worked the way Maedhros wanted it to. He had expected to find himself in the Halls of Mandos, not stranded in a cave somewhere he had never knew existed. The words England, and countryside had meant nothing to him, even after he had learned the language of the land.

It was a shock, at first. He had wanted to kill every one of those humans that touched him and examined him, but in the end, he settled for nodding and playing along, it had helped in getting him out of that godforsaken place faster. A hospital, he'd learn to call it afterwards. Maedhros had, with some difficulty, learn to adjust to the new environment. He had thought of giving up many times, but it didn't seem fair when there were so many people focused on keeping him alive. He didn't really have anything keeping him here. He had made friends, but at the end of the day, they knew about him. The only thing that was keeping him from going over the line again was fear.

He didn't know what would happen to him if he died, where he'd end up this time. And Maedhros didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with his family again. He wanted to see Fingon again, even if it was for one last time. He didn’t want to end up where all those humans did. He wanted to go home.

Which is why, he found himself majoring at ancient mythology and languages at the Oxford university of England, on just Earth. He was studying ancient Norse mythology in particular, because it felt to have a stronger connection with his roots. He didn’t know what he was searching for, only that he needed to go home. And if there was a possibility that a dead (because he was certain he died) elf of the First Age could spontaneously appear here, then surely, he should be able to go back.

Magic doesn’t happen once in a couple of centuries. Magic was constant and it was everywhere. It was truly a wonder how none of the humans could see it, or even feel it. The magic was all around them, electric and familiar -a comforting presence- throw like a sheet all over the planet. But all of them were so focused in things that concerned them and them alone that they were blind to all the magic around them. Some of them believed in it, but they were shunned and mocked for it.

 _“It’s not real”_ was the argument Maedhros heard more often. But then again, who could define real? Maedhros thought that his world was the only real one, and yet here he was, in another world where its inhabitants thought was the only real one. However, all those questions made Maedhros’ head hurt and reminded him of the terrible time where he wasn’t able to realize what’s real and what’s not after his torment at the hands of Sauron; so, he ignored them.

Who cares, honestly, what’s real and what’s not? What defines it? Maedhros believed his own world was real, and therefore it was; and he needed to get back there. That was his biggest concern. Not some unanswered, lengthy philosophical question; he could answer that when he was at the Halls of Mandos, when he would have an eternity to think them over.

Today, however, was one of those days that dragged him back, because his mind had decided (most probably for the universal reason of “it’s hilarious”) to drag him in a mood that was darker and more bitter than the coffee he drank, and that was saying something for him. The doctors in the hospital had called it high-functioning depression. They even gave him a plastic bottle of white square things you were supposed to eat to help you. They called those pills. Maedhros had promptly thrown them away at the first garbage can he found. He was not about to go around taking weird stuff in a world he had just landed in, thank you very much. If he had managed to deal with his mind for so many years, then he certainly could deal with it here that there was no Enemy.

Most importantly, there was no Oath. Its constant nagging presence had been silenced, and Maedhros was finally able to think; if not clearly then definitely with a clearer head than before. Nothing was urging him to kill people over a jewel. Maedhros thought that played a significant role in his decision making. He would be able to make bad decisions, but not kinslaying decisions. He considered this a plus.

When he arrived at his dorm (which he didn’t share with anyone) he locked himself in and laid with his face on the carpet for a few moments. It was pathetic and he hated it, but sometimes his brain could only stare at the ceiling for hours. Other times though, he actually got some of his personal research done. Lately, he had discovered that there was a guy named Tolkien who, in a variety of his books, had written all the events of Maedhros’ life. Chatting with the old chap would have been ideal, but unfortunately and inconveniently, he was dead. And his son seemed ready to follow right after him. However, Maedhros figured that it was worth a try. If there was the slightest chance that he was still sane enough to hold a conversation going, Maedhros would take it. Or maybe it was required that the guy was mad so as for the conversation to flow easier. Whatever, the important part was that they managed to understand each other. Maedhros had faith in the guy.

He had tried everything to arrange a meeting, but he achieved nothing. That did not discourage him though. He had not been named one of the best and terrible warriors of Arda only to have a fancy title because a Noldor prince. And besides that, he was good at planning. He had managed to find out where Christopher Tolkien lived. He would show up and sneak in to talk to him. If he was caught, he would claim being invited by the author for an interview. A book on Gondolin was being released, even though Maedhros was hazy about the details. Years of sneaking in and out of Fingon’s bedroom with considerable success were bound to prove helpful.

It was very unfortunate, that the day he had chosen to do that was also one of his bad days. However, human interaction dysphoria or not, there was no turning back. Pushing himself to the limit was nothing new; Maedhros remembered days of his old life where he overworked himself almost to the breaking point. Maglor and Fingon had always been there to remind him to take care of himself, or in Fingon’s case, take care of Maedhros for him. But now they weren’t. it was a bad choice, maybe, but Maedhros was willing to sacrifice his almost well-being to the temple of possibility. The possibility to go back home. The desire outweighed all his other concerns and issues.

And so Maedhros stood up and strapped a backpack with whatever was left of his old stuff and headed for Christopher Tolkien’s house. He had to change four buses and force himself to stop for a snack along the way, but in the end, he arrived there mid-afternoon.

The word mansion was more accurate. It was huge, and the yard was even larger. The fence around the estate was tall and made of marble. The railings of the front door bore the sign of Tolkien; the weird J with the two Rs at its sides.

“Well, it’s now or never.” Maedhros told himself, not managing to lift his spirits very successfully. He walked to the back, where he was sure he couldn’t be spotted, and started climbing. His prosthetic hand kept getting stuck, and by the time he reached the top Maedhros said “Fuck it” and shoved it inside his backpack.

The lock of the front door was easy enough to pick, and very soon Maedhros found himself inside. The inside looked very much like an old mansion, with crystal lamps at the ceiling and traditional wooden furniture, but Maedhros didn’t pay attention to the decoration. The place looked much like his grandfather’s house, and so Maedhros used his knowledge to guide himself through the countless rooms. Finally, he found one, just at the base of a large staircase, that had the Tolkien anagram carved on the wooden frame; even if it was faded.

Remembering his manners, Maedhros knocked on the door. He considered it a success when a deep, and slightly strained voice called him inside. Maedhros opened the door slowly. Right in front of him, standing nwxt to the window, was the figure of a man with hair the color of paper. He was sitting on a wheelchair with his back to him. Maedhros steeled himself with a breath.

No turning back now.


	2. Let's talk about whether you're mad of not over a cup of tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros tells Christopher the whole story over a cup of tea and discovers that Christopher Tolkien is secretly a russingon fangirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the Tolkien estate snippers don't kill me for this, the ghost of Tolkien himself will rise from the grave and do so. The content of this chapter is mine, by no means do I know Christopher Tolkien’s view on the subject. I think it’s clear which verions I’m going with here.

"Please, do come in." The man in the armchair said without turning around. Maedhros obeyed silently, moving inside the room and closing the door behind him. “I was not aware of any visitors today.” The old man continued. “What brings you here, lad?”

“Well, it’s a very weird and complicated story, sir.” Maedhros said. He was standing awkwardly, not having been told to sit down.

“Define weird, my boy.” Christopher Tolkien finally turned around to look him in the eye.  His face was wrinkled like a crumbled piece of paper, and it possessed that wonderful and welcoming color of old yellowed pages. His eyes, however, were bright and sparking with mischief. “I see you are a great fan of my father’s work.” He said, looking at Maedhros’ pointed ears. In the world, Maedhros used that excuse; claiming he made surgery on his ears. In all honesty though, people coming anywhere near his ears was horrifying.

“Oh, no. those are all me, sir. Natural or whatever you call them. I was born with them.” The redhead replied.

He could see the exact moment Christopher’s eyes clouded with confusion. “Oh?”

“Yes, you see... this is what I mean when I say weird. I’m an elf. And no, I’m not delusional. Or crazy. Or too obsessed. My name is Maedhros Feanorion sir, and even though I have no idea how I ended up here, I know for certain that I want to go back home.” Maedhros decided that it was best to be frank and forward. There was no point tip-toeing around the subject. On which note he _definitely_ needed the guy to be nuts to fall for that. “I’m not mad.” Maedhros insisted. “Okay, maybe just a little, but that’s a side effect of the Oath.” He took a deep breath. “Anyhow, my point is that I want to go back to Middle-earth. And you -or you know, your father, but let’s not get technical- seems to be the only one who knows exactly what happened to me.”

“So, my father’s story is true?” Was the only thing Christopher said asked. Honestly, those humans always focused on the least important details.

“It has some inaccuracies, but yes, it’s true.” At Christopher’s questioning glance, Maedhros elaborated. “Well, Gil-galad is Orodreth’s son; not Fingon’s. Fingon didn’t have a son. Or a wife for that matter. He adopted Ereinion to have a heir.” Maedhros started with what had initially bugged him the most.

“So, Fingon wasn’t married?” Christopher asked. Maedhros refrained from sighing. Honestly, out of _all_ things…

“I said he didn’t have a wife, I never said he wasn’t married.” Maedhros said. “He was married. To me.”

The author let out an ungodly excited shriek that Maedhros was sure was not typical old man behavior.

“What on Telperion’s silver leaves- ”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I just got a little excited. I always thought that you two were dating, but I never go around asking Dad about it.

“Okaaaayyy….” Maedhros said slowly. What was he supposed to say to that? I’m thrilled that my sleeping arrangements cause you such joy? “Also, Amrod died at Losgar, not Sirion.” Maedhros continued.

“So _that’s_ the real version!” Christopher exclaimed triumphally. “Blimey! Where are my manners? Please, take a seat!” he gestured to an armchair right behind the redhead elf. “MARTHA!” He yelled suddenly. A feminine head with wrinkles pocked through the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Bring us some tea.” Christopher asked. “And a notebook.” The maid nodded and went to fetch the things. Christopher then turned all his attention on him.  “Go on, lad. You have my individed attention.”

Maedhros then spit out everything, starting from his failed suicide attempt, to the discovery of Tolkien’s books because of his ears, and finally to his reasoning to come and meet the son of the famous storyteller.

“I’m also sorry for breaking into your house.” Maedhros apologized with a weak smile filled with guilt. “And for sneaking into your house -granted, this is almost the same thing- and for ruining your lock. And beating your security system.”

Christopher laughed. “Small prices for such an interesting story. In case I believe what you said,” he threw Maedhros a look under his thick glasses that the elf was not able to decipher, “what could I do to help you?”

Maedhros considered the question a small victory, but didn’t cheer yet; it was hardly the solution he was looking for.

“I don’t know, honestly. This is why I came to you. I don’t know what happened to me.” Maedhros admitted finally.

“Then what makes you think it can be reversed?” Christopher asked seriously. Maedhros considered the question, as he had done countless times before. At first, only the prospect of it made his stomach boil with nerves and he panicked. But was past that stage now, and so he repeated to Tolkien No 2 what he had used to reason with himself. It had been the tiniest spark of hope after the despair of the realization that the Song of Creation didn’t exist in this world. Magic, however, did. No matter how invisible its existence was.

“Magic exists here. I know it because I can feel it. And magic doesn’t work once in a blue moon -which happens often enough actually; roughly once in 2.7 years. The time period between two consistent full moons is averagely 29,53 days, and there are around 365,24 days in a year. Which means that there are approximately 12,37 full moons in a year, _which_ means that most years have 12 full moons; _but_ every 2 or 3 years they have 13. That one “more” full moon falls, (obviously) during one of the four seasons, and that season therefore has 4 full moons instead of 3. Now, that third full moon of the season comes earlier than it should and it’s called a “blue moon”, so that the end of the season can be signaled by the fourth full moon and fix the anomaly-” He stopped abruptly when he saw that Christopher Tolkien looked at him more puzzled than ever. “Out of subject. Sorry. Anyhow, as I was saying, even if it takes one hundred years to happen again -which it doesn’t-  I _can_ wait that long; but that’s not the point. Magic is constant and ever-present in everything around us. I appeared here out of the blue, in a day with no particular significance -I checked that too. So, generally speaking, I should be able to go back the same way I came. Whatever that was.”

“Trivia question: how do you know so much about the blue moon?” Christopher asked. Maedhros almost sighed again; that wasn’t the _point…_

“The expression confused me, so I looked it up.” He said instead.

“Let’s say, for the sake of this hypothesis, that I believe you.” Christopher said, finally getting back on topic. “What do you think you’d need to find out exactly how you ended up here?”

Maedhros thought for a moment before answering. “The first step would be to go back where I showed up; that would be Ireland, mind you. And probably access to any kind of legends around the area, especially regarding magic and time-and-space-travelling or what-the-fuck-ever happened to me. Sorry.” He apologized when he realized that his language slipped.  “Anyway, mostly go back. Which means that I’d need money for a plane, but inconveniently I’m broke; so you see how this poses my first problem. I hadn’t planned things that far ahead if we’re being honest.” The elf admitted, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Christopher’s eyes suddenly widened. “Your right hand is missing.” He noted. Maedhros looked down at his hand out of instinct.

“Oh yeah…” he had forgotten that he’d dumped his prosthetic one in his bag. He tried to keep his stump in his pocket as to not freak the guy out, but he forgot about it.

“My boy,” Christopher started, “either the universe is playing some cruel joke on you, or you are truly and impossibly telling the truth!” He exclaimed. Before Maedhros could reply, he leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m going to help you.” He stated. Maedhros resisted the urge to fist-bump the air, but his heart leaped at the words. “But one condition. I’ll have to come with you.” Maedhros had no objections with that. He told Christopher so just as Martha came back with the tea. “Well, then my boy,” the author said as the door closed behind Martha, “I do believe you and I will be going together on an adventure.”

Maedhros shared a smile with the old man, but he couldn’t help but notice the hard lines of age that traced across his face.

 _Better late than never in his age,_ Maedhros thought. _Worst case scenario is that he dies somewhere along the way._

“MARTHA!” Christopher yelled again. The poor maid came back inside, cheeks flushed. Maedhros felt sorry for her. (Although it wasn’t like she’d managed to go very far.)  “Pack a few bags for me. Mr Maedhros and I will be leaving for Ireland shortly.”  


	3. Martha will have none of this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Maedhros go to Ireland, but Martha is definitely not letting her boss out of her sight. He might forget his pills!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the saga continues!

_"It so happens,"_ Christopher had said over their tea after Martha's (third, not that anyone was counting) deparure, _"that my father -or rather I do- own a house at Ireland. It's very much like this one, and will prove most useful, I believe."_

Maedhros' last impression of the houses the Tolkiens possessed stood unchanged. The word mansion was much more fitting. Especially in the case of this particular house. This mansion was even bigger than the last one, and the whole scenery and architecture practically screamed _"creepy and abandoned mysterious manison, don't let your kids play freely; mind the ghosts"_.

"We're here!" Christopher announced most cheerfully. He clapped his hands in excitement together. Maedhros was about to say that it was about time, but he refrained himself. Heights weren't really his thing (ironically considering his own) and planes proved to be quite an uncomfortable way of travelling. Hanging hundreds of feet in the air inside a metallic flying box felt more surreal than anything. Not to mention that his friends, had decided to call him just as soon as he landed. Ben’s voice exclaiming _“And why didn’t you tell us, you bastard?”_ echoed in his mind along with Tessa’s background voice promising they would be there tomorrow.

 _Lovely,_ Maedhros thought dryly. What on the bright stars of Cuivienen was he going to tell them? _Hello, yes, you have been friends with one of the worst kinslayers of the entire Beleriand, please don’t be afraid of me._ Not to mention that if they came there was no way he could hide what he and Christopher were doing, which meant that he had to break it to them that he was an elf. It was not going to go over well and he knew it.

However, the house (actually mansion, but he’d call it house for convenience) was huge, meaning that there were many places for Maedhros to go exploring. And so he decided that he’d burn that bridge when he got to it, and focused on finding the library instead.

When being presented with new houses, Maedhros always liked to explore them. His curiosity demanded to be satisfied, and Maedhros just had to know every corner. That is, until he found the library. After that he was pretty content with staying there forever, providing that it was large and filled with books. And judging by the looks of this house, it would be.

Maedhros’ thoughts flew to his brothers, as they very often did. Maglor usually searched for the quietest and loneliest place, where he could play his music for hours without anyone discovering him. Celegorm, would of course, immediately go out in the garden, and Curufin would make himself at anywhere that had a desk he could work on. Carannthir was particularly fond of living rooms, and more specifically sofas. The twins, would be running everywhere, before finally settling at the stairs with stolen goods from the kitchen.

Maedhros shook his head with a sad smile. Memories like those could only bring him sorrow, and he already had enough of it. Turning his head away from the ghosts in his mind, he focused his attention at Martha.

She was a petite woman, but what she lacked in height she made up for with her determination. She had been adamant about letting Christopher come to Ireland without her. She had insisted that there was no way he would be going anywhere without her, much less overseas, presenting a list of well-constructed reasons for her case. Pills were on top of it, followed suit by Maedhros not knowing Christopher’s medical needs (or as she had rightly pointed out, any kind of medical knowledge on their ways) and of course, his inadequate filling of her position in general. The fact that he was short one hand also featured, along with the argument that he wouldn’t even be able to push the wheelchair properly. Maedhros might have been insulted under different circumstances, but he recognized stubbornness when he saw it. He had gratefully accepted Martha’s company on their trip, hiding a small smile at the blonde woman’s stony determination. They had to let her in on Maedhros’ true identity first, which was received with wide eyes, a few (fifteen) minutes of speechlessness, and a final resignation.

 _“You are both mad.”_ She had declared. _“But perhaps I am even more mad, because I believe you.”_

 _“Thank you, Martha.”_ Maedhros had said, but she had waved him off with a hand.

 _“Let’s hope you’re right.”_ She had told him, and Maedhros had agreed. He wanted, no _needed_ to be right. This was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to go back home, and he’d be damned if it didn’t work. 

With an absurd half-laugh, Maedhros realized he was hoping. It was an odd feeling, to still be able to hope after so long. The last time he had hoped -truly hoped, without a black cloud hanging over his head, without a feeling at the pit of his stomach that this was all for naught- was when Fingon had still been alive. Maedhros could almost separate his life in three phases. When he lived in Valinor happy and carefree, after Angband when his mind had been almost ruined, and after Fingon’s death when his hope had been completely stripped away and Maedhros had become nothing but a shell of himself. But now he had dared to hope again.

Christopher was still talking, praising the house’s architecture. Maedhros’ father would have certain objections to the positioning of the walls, and Curufin would _hate_ the small corridors. Maedhros himself didn’t particularly like the way the windows were placed; making the light illuminate weirdly inside the house. But he didn’t say anything about it because a) it wasn’t his house and b) it couldn’t be fixed anyway.

It was Martha that finally decided she had had enough of it, and declared she would be heading out to make them dinner. Maedhros liked her a lot already, but forty-five minutes and two dishes of soup later, he officially loved her.

“This is delicious.” He said, being careful to avoid Celegorm’s habit of talking while chewing. “You are an excellent cook.”

Martha seemed pleased. “I am honored that a mythical elven prince is so found of my cooking.” She said.

“I’m more of a famous elven murderer, but nonetheless, the compliment is well-deserved.” Maedhros corrected her, and Martha blushed a little this time.

“I couldn’t agree more, my dear.” Christopher said. “Your cooking skills exceed everyone else’s. Especially mine. I can’t cook to save my life.” He turned to Maedhros with a raised eyebrow, and it took the redhead elf an embarrassing moment to realize that was a question directed at him.

“Oh, I can cook just fine, if I do say so myself. Both Fingon and my brothers appreciated my plates, so I daresay they liked my cooking. I don’t though. Cook, I mean. Not anymore. I haven’t for a very long time.” Maedhros took another bite, and a moment before explaining. “It brings back… memories, you see.” Thankfully, neither human asked what kind of memories. “So, have you been here before?” he asked them. It was a subject change clear as the light of day, but Martha ignored it.

“Oh, I have never been outside London before! Trips are so exciting!” She did look excited, perhaps the only time Maedhros had noticed she actually liked coming here for something more than her boss.

“I am much of the same.” Christopher said. “I don’t like going out a lot.”

“It’s a very nice place.” Maedhros commented.

“It is, isn’t it?” Christopher agreed. “The view is indeed magnificent.”

The view that he was talking about was that of the sea, and Maedhros couldn’t agree more. Right in front of the house, the sea opened at their feet. It was endless, going on for as far as the eye could see. This time of the day, late in the afternoon, the sun was dipping low, sinking inside the dark cerulean ocean. Maedhros could not wait to see it at dawn, when he'd wake up. It would also be easier to bury himself in the library when no one else was around to annoy him.

It was not long before the sun dipped even lower and Christopher and Martha retired to their respective rooms for the night. Maedhros did too, but that did not mean he got any sleep. He was far too anxious and excited. Anxious because, well, he always was when something important was concerned. And excited, oh was he excited for that one small hope of going home? Hell yeah, he was. And that was the problem. He couldn’t be excited about it, because it was just a hope. It wasn’t certain. And while Maedhros would love to cling to it, and get excited for the first time in Eru knows how many years (he had forgotten, not that it was a very important piece of information), it wasn’t worth it.

Okay, to be fair it probably was, but Maedhros would not be able to face the destruction of that hope; and he had to tell himself _something._ If this failed…. If he put all of his newfound and fragile hope into that one single possibility and it failed…. It would ruin him. It hurt, admitting ut even to himself, but it was true and he knew it. If he was mistaken about this, it was sonething he would never recover from. He wouldn't be able to face it; come to terms with it.

And he had seen where that train if thought leaded; it ended with a profound and painful desperation, a hopelessness that went beyond words. And then a jump. That was all it took, a few moments and then a jump. His mother would have been horrified. Hell, his father would be even more horrified, knowing he was the cause of it. Not that Maedhros blamed him. Not anymore.

The silvery rays of moonlight reflected on the cold pale marble of this balcony. It reminded him of Telperion, and immediately a nostalgia rose up in him.

Telperion, the old years of the Trees. The happy days; before the war. Before Alqualondë, before Angband. It was honestly funny, how he could divide his life into parts, like he was sorting books on the shelves. He let a long sigh and tried to focus his thoughts on sorting out his next movements. That had always helped him.

First things first. He was in Ireland, so the start of his research should focus on Celtic mythology. What did he know about Irish mythology? Not much.

 _Well, time to find out,_ Maedhros thought.


	4. Here comes the reasearch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros researches Celtic mythology, trying to find something that will help him. His friends arrive from Oxford and explanations are in order, but after tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did not make this chapter as an excuse to research and write down Celtic mytholgy, no, not at all. Me? Never.
> 
> Source for the info is wikipedia and timelessmyths, and the parts in the italic letters inside the quotes are taken directly from there.  
> I do hope this chapter is not too boring. ~~I figured we're all nerds here~~

It was hardly 8 o’clock when Maedhros settled on a table at the library with a mug of steaming coffee (black, like his soul) and a pile of books. He also had a few papers and a pen with him, to write down the important stuff. He was ready. He could totally do this.

The books were too many and way too old; the kind of old where you have to take care when turning the yellowed pages so they don’t dissolve to dust in your hands. These books were written centuries after Maedhros had died. Looking at them made him feel suddenly very, very old. Which he has, and he was totally entitled to have an old life crisis at his- which millennia was this? He’d stopped trying to count.

Where was he going with this? He had a point. Right. The point was, that even if he was entitled to his crisis, it was not the best time to do so.

 _Research,_ Maedhros reminded himself. _Focus._

 _“_ _Celtic mythology,”_ Maedhros read,   _“is the mythology of Celtic polytheism, the religion of the Iron Age Celts. Like other Iron Age Europeans, the early Celts maintained a polytheistic mythology and religious structure. For Celts in close contact with Ancient Rome, such as the Gauls and Celtiberians, their mythology did not survive the Roman Empire, their subsequent conversion to Christianity and the loss of their Celtic languages.”_

It was all terribly interesting, but Maedhros had a goal and a time limit. (His friends were showing up in the afternoon.) He scanned the few next pages quickly, finding only generalities and historical sources. His eyes stopped at a few bullet points at the start of the page, listing the subgroups that could be traced back to Celtic mythology. He counted ten of them. But at least he was getting _somewhere._

_“The oldest body of myths stemming from the Heroic Age is found only from the early medieval period of Ireland. As Christianity began to take over, the gods and goddesses were slowly eliminated as such from the culture. What has survived includes material dealing with the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians, which forms the basis for the text Cath Maige Tuired, "The Battle of Mag Tuireadh", as well as portions of the history-focused Lebor Gabála Érenn ("The Book of Invasions"). The Tuatha Dé represent the functions of human society such as kingship, crafts and war, while the Fomorians represent chaos and wild nature.”_

HA! Success!

Irish mythology was generally divided into four cycles, the Mythological Cycle, the Ulster Cycle, the Fenian Cycle and the Historical Cycle.

The Mythological Cycle, is the least well preserved of the four cycles, comprising stories of the former gods and origins of the Irish. _“The most important sources are the_ _Metrical Dindshencha_ _s_ _or Lore of Places and the_ Lebor Gabála Érenn _or Book of Invasions.”_ Read Maedhros. _“Other manuscripts preserve such mythological tales as_ _The Dream of Aengus_ _,_ The Wooing Of Étain _and_ _Cath Maige Tuireadh_ _, The (second) Battle of Magh Tuireadh. One of the best known of all Irish stories, Oidheadh Clainne Lir, or_ The Tragedy of the Children of Lir _, is also part of this cycle.”_

He had story names, that had to count for something.

 _“Lebor Gabála Érenn is a pseudo-history of Ireland, tracing the ancestry of the Irish back to before_ Noah _. It tells of a series of invasions or "takings" of Ireland by a succession of peoples, the fifth of whom was the people known as the_ _Tuatha Dé Danann_ _("Peoples of the Goddess Danu"), who were believed to have inhabited the island before the arrival of the_ _Gaels_ _, or_ _Milesians_ _. They faced opposition from their enemies, the_ _Fomorians_ _, led by_ _Balor_ _of the Evil Eye. Balor was eventually slain by_ _Lug Lámfada_ _(Lug of the Long Arm) at the second battle of Magh Tuireadh. With the arrival of the Gaels, the Tuatha Dé Danann retired underground to become the_ _fairy_ _people of later myth and legend.”_

It was like reading Chinese. Or learning English again. Maedhros seriously needed to find a point where things started to make sense. He skipped through the next gibberish of Irish names that included battles and gods, trying to find something, anything, to start at.

 _“_ _Goibniu_ _,_ _Creidhne_ _and_ _Luchta_ _are referred to as Trí Dé Dána ("three gods of craftsmanship"), and the_ _Dagda_ _'s name is interpreted in_ _medieval_ _texts as "the good god"._ _Nuada_ _is_ _cognate_ _with the_ _British_ _god_ _Nodens_ _;_ _Lug_ _is a reflex of the pan-_ _Celtic_ _deity_ Lugus _, the name of whom may indicate "Light";_ _Tuireann_ _may be related to the_ _Gaulish_ _Taranis_ _;_ _Ogma_ _to_ _Ogmios_ _; the_ _Badb_ _to_ _Catubodua_ _.”_

Gods sounded like a big deal, Maedhros decided. Gods usually _were_ a big deal. Maybe he could search up each of them? He set the book down and found another one, that had the title “Irish Mythological Figures”. He quickly scanned through the pages, and closed it just a fast. There were thousands of them, only a hundred at the Mythological Cycle. It would take ages to look it up like this.

He had died, hadn’t he? Or at least he intended to do so when he jumped inside the chasm. Maedhros quickly scanned the books, and picked up one that wrote “Celtic Underworld”.

_“Originally, the Otherworld, particularly the Irish myths, was sometimes situated on some remote islands in the west. Later the Otherworld was located on Ireland itself, but mostly hidden from mortal eyes by strong otherworldly magic.”_

Now _that_ was interesting. Maedhros kept on reading.

The otherworld was most probably located at Tír na nÓg, the “Land of Youth”, home of Danu (the Mother goodness, as a quick check at another book revealed), and her deities known as Tuatha Dé Danann, meaning “People of the Godness Danu.” Pretty straightforward names if you asked him. It was also called Tech Duinn, meaning “House of Donn” who was the god of Death.

_“_ _Tír na nÓg_ _has four magical cities: Falias, Gorias, Finias and Murias. In each city, was a magical treasure or talisman, which the Tuatha Dé Danann received when they settled in Ireland. Also residing in each city was a druid. These four druids taught the Tuatha Dé Danann knowledge and skills.”_

Maedhros made a note of the following chart with the city names with their druids and their treasures. The Otherworld was supposed to be located on several areas in Ireland was hidden by magic, in a subterranean fortress called _Sid_ , _Sidh_ or _Sidhe_. (mental note for Maedhros: _“The word Sidhe (sid or sidh) means "Fairy Rath" or "Fairy Fort". The Tuatha Dé Danann were sometimes called áes sídhe, which is the "People of the Sídh". The Tuatha Dé Danann retreated here after they were vanquished by the Milesians.”_ )

Maedhros skipped the underwater otherworld and the Land of Promise, reading up instead the story of the Children of Lir and the Battles of mag Tuired, that Christopher had mentioned were important.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Martha interrupted his reading, but the sky outside was already dark.

“You’re still here?” Her incredulous voice brought him out of his reverie. “I thought you had abandoned the library long ago!”

Maedhros blinked at her. “What time is it?”

Martha checked her watch. “Around seven.”

 _Shit._ He’d gotten carried away.

“Are-”

“Yes, your friends are here. Mr. Tolkien is showing them around.” She looked around questioningly. “Where is your plate?”

“Plate?” Maedhros frowned.

“Yes, plate.” Martha said. “The one with your lunch.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You _did_ have lunch, didn’t you?”

Maedhros was sure the answer was written all over his face, but he replied anyway. “I... may have forgotten.”

Martha looked firstly shocked, then resigned, and lastly exasperated. “I’ll go make you a sandwich.” She left shaking her head. Maedhros could hear her mutter about ancient elven lords that couldn’t even remember to eat, and how now there were two of them. He suspected that the professor tended to get lost in his work.

“MAE!” Tessa exclaimed when she saw him coming from the corridor. “Here you are!”

She and Molly hugged him, whist Ben and Edward gave him a one-armed hug. Tessa punched him in the shoulder.

“What the hell, mate?” She said as Maedhros rubbed his shoulder. It definitely wasn't a fatal wound, but it still hurt. “Why did you run off suddenly?”

“I do believe,” Christopher piped in, “that this question requires quite a long explanation. What do you say, we have this conversation over a lovely cup of tea?”

Nobody disagreed, and Maedhros almost hugged Chistopher. He knew he was just procrastinating the inevitable, but his brain could really use a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](https://feanoriansappreciation.tumblr.com/html/)


	5. Look, I can explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations are given, Fingon makes an appearence, or well, his letter does, and a trip is scheduled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to kanafiinwe for their line in a discussion that gave me the idea for this and [this drabble](https://feanoriansappreciation.tumblr.com/post/174404932949/12-mae-and-mags-and-another-one-of-their-brothers/html) that is what Maedhros is referring to when he said that Maglor yelled some sense into him. And I should also perhaps clarify that in my headcanon Maedhros and Fingon are married, and got married the night before Ninaeth Arnodiad.

Maedhros knew he shouldn’t open the letter again. He knew that nothing other than more pain and grief would come out of it. And when Maedhros grieved, he had a tendency for self-pity, and was less than kind to those that tried to help him. Maglor had made that clear when he tried to yell some sense into him; with much success. It was the harsh truth that needed to be said, and Maedhros admired his little brother for having the guts to say it to his face. He was grateful for it too.

He did open the letter. The Sons of Fëanor, were after all, notorious for making bad decisions.

It was perhaps his only link, not only with Fingon who was long gone, but with his home world too. Of course, being stranded in a foreign world didn’t lessen the pain at all.

_Hey._

He could see Fingon between the lines of the letter, smiling up at him with that radiant smile Maedhros had fallen in love with. Wide and happy, a little embarrassed and just somewhat nervous.

_So, ummm… this is a letter. Obviously. You already got that. You might have also understood that it is a goodbye letter. I swea- sorry- no, you know what? Screw it. I swear I didn’t want it to be. Not all oaths are bad, Maitimo. I know my oath to you wasn’t. Am I writing this in the morning before you wake up? Yes. I want this to have the words, the goodbye that Eru knows I’m not strong enough to say to your face. Not today._

_Maitimo, I…_

_I’m circling around the subject, I know. As well as I know that you don’t really mind. It’s a little bit like having me there, isn’t it? I know that’s how it’d feel for me._

_I don’t have an opening line; as you definitely noticed. Or a structure, I don’t have an ending either. I’m just, writing. Talking, I guess? It feels like talking. A monologue. Funny, I was never much for those._

_But I have to start somewhere; so I guess I’m going to start by apologizing. Don’t give me that look; let me finish. I’m sorry about your hand. Yes, I know that you’re okay, I know how you said it actually helps; I remember. But I’m still sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did over the years and didn’t apologize for. I’m not sure it counts since I don’t really know what I’m apologizing for, but still. Perhaps, all that pent up regret over various things needs to go somewhere. Do you think it counts? If I say I apologize for everything, will the weight of my shoulders magically lift? That’d be nice._

_I’m also sorry (perhaps- no, certainly most of all) that I’m writing this letter to you. Because you deserve to hear all of this. You deserve me to say it to your face. Because if you’re reading this, I’m leaving. If you’re reading this, I’m gone. And I can never begin to be sorry enough for that. I swear, Maitimo -yes, I swear, a thousand times over- I never wanted to leave. I would have done anything to stay._

_I know it hurts. It hurts a lot, and it hurts so much that in the end you feel nothing at all. And it’s unfair, erudammit it’s so unfair, sweetheart. I was so happy yesterday, we both were. It should last; it lasts for everyone else!_

_I’m a bit angry at the world. No, actually, I’m pissed at the world. It’s been so cruel to me, but mainly because of how unforgiving it has been to you. You don’t deserve that cruelty, love, you really don’t._

_Fuck, this is getting a lot longer than I intended it to be._

_You remember why I came to find you? I came there to die, Maitimo, to find you, maybe, or die trying. To die where you did, as if I could make sure you didn’t die alone. I’d tasted life without you, at the Ice, and decided I didn’t want it. Maybe I’m being ungrateful. At this point, I don’t really care._

_I love you. I love you with all my heart, freely and deeply as life loves everything it creates. Yes, I’m being cheesy, but I do love you with all I have, and they can wrinkle their noses for all I care- don’t laugh! I love you. And I’m sorry, I really am, that we didn’t get to be happy for longer than this. I would have desired nothing more. And it hurts, Eru, how much it hurts._

_But I wouldn’t change it. For nothing. Never. And maybe I should ask you to promise me something, (isn’t that what everyone does with their dying wish?) but I don’t know, I really don’t. That would require knowing the future, the ending, and I don’t. But I can promise_ you _something._

 _I’ll be there. I’ll be waiting for you at the other side, when-_ if _you come. I can promise that._

_I promise that._

_That’d be a nice ending for my letter, dramatic as I like it. You can appreciate that. You did always say you loved how I dramatic I am. The truth is, I’m not good at this. I don’t know how endings work, Maitimo. Every way I have tried to end this letter feels wrong. I guess, you know, don’t you? I hope you know, because I sure as hell don’t. But then again, you always had a way of knowing what I’m thinking; to know what I’m feeling even when I didn’t._

_I love you. I guess, that’s all I can say, in the end. That’s all that matters._

_I love you. I forgive you. For everything._

_Forever yours, my love,_

_your Findekáno_

He was crying at the end of it. Of course he was; he always was. He tried to pull himself together, but the grief and longing for Fingon mingled with the burning desire to go home, with the homesickness that plagued him the moment he set foot on this place.

He had been supposed to die. He was going to see Fingon again. And then…

He let himself sob and mourn until his tears dried and no more could come from his eyes. He was laying down on his bed with his back, his eyes looking upwards at the dull grey ceiling. But he wasn’t seeing it; his eyes travelled far away in both time and space, remembering the stars, _his_ stars. The ones that used to shine over Aman, and then again later at the sky over Beleriand. The ones that he and Fingon had spent countless times stargazing, the constellations he remembered all the names of.

He had read that letter a thousand times since the first day he found it, but every time the grief plagued him again like it had never left (it never had, not really), clinging to him like a second skin. Wiping the tears that had dried over his cheeks -that was always a weird feeling, how they clung to him like the rest of his scars; the scars he didn’t have anymore, he reminded himself- and pushed himself up slowly.

Carefully, he closed the letter and deposited it back with the rest of his things. He wanted to have it with him all the time (it would feel like having Fingon with him, maybe), but he was afraid it would be destroyed. Each and every single word had been engraved in his mind even better than his own name, but it would still be a significant loss if the piece of paper was to be destroyed. _Fingon had written it._ Really, that was all the explanation required. At least, he still had his wedding ring.

It was just a simple ring of silver with nothing fancy on it; Fingon knew he didn’t like that. He preferred things simple. And well, the ring Fingon had received was much the same (not a very big possibility to have diamond rings in Beleriand) save that it was golden, like the ribbons he wore in his hair. Fingon had loved it and said so, right after they had both stopped laughing. It was saying something about them, that each had the ring for years carefully kept, but was too hesitant to give it.

 _“We’re both disasters, aren’t we?”_ Fingon had laughed easily. But he gazed at the golden band in his finger fondly, and Maedhros was grinning up at him. It had been perfect.

Shaking his head to snap himself out of the memories, Maedhros stood up. They had all scheduled to leave this morning for the Giant’s Causeway up north. Molly had claimed the place was weird and very possibly magical, and therefore worth a shot in exploring.

According to the legend, the columns are the remains of a causeway built by a giant. Maedhros remembered reading it in one of the books, but it wasn’t given in much detail. According to the story, the Irish giant Fionn MacCumhaill (Finn MacCool was a name scribbled at the side with a pen, and Ben had spent a good ten minutes laughing at it), -who belonged to the Fenian Cycle of Gaelic mythology- was challenged to a fight by the Scottish giant Benandonner. Fionn accepted the challenge and built the causeway across the North Channel so that the two giants could meet and fight.

In one version of the story, Fionn defeats Benandonner, but in another, (the more interesting one) he hides from Benandonner when he realises that his foe is much bigger than he is. Fionn's wife, Oonagh, disguises Fionn as a baby and tucks him in a cradle. When Benandonner sees the size of the 'baby', he reckons that its father, Fionn, must be a great giant even among giants. And so he flees back to Scotland in fright, destroying the causeway behind him so that Fionn would be unable to chase him down.

Maedhros’ friends had all agreed that it would be a good place to start. Edward had also suggested that they could visit Stonehenge, but that was back in England, and anyhow, Maedhros didn’t feel particularly interested in it.

He had been shocked, at how easily they all accepted his story. Of course, Molly almost had a panic attack and Ben spent at least fifteen minutes just staring at him with his mouth dropped open, but overall, it had gone fine. Tessa had barely even blinked, shrugging and claiming she always knew he was weird.

Maedhros looked at the clock in his nightstand; it was half past five in the morning. Deciding he wasn’t very hungry, and would rather not be fed twice by Martha -who after the incident at the library all but fed him herself to make sure he was eating- he decided to start packing his things. He was a little exasperated by Martha’s behavior, but it seemed to be some sort of mother-hen instinct, because she had noticed her doing to the rest of them too. In some ways, Martha reminded Maedhros of his mother. Nerdanel, too, had that determined personality that you didn't say no to, because she was able to glare you into subsidence.

He didn’t have many belongings to pack (that usually happens when you fall inside a flaming volcano but magically end up in the middle of a lake at winter), and so he had nothing more than the backpack he had broken inside Christopher’s house with. He had been living here for enough years to end with some belongings and clothes, but they weren’t many. It had taken him a good while to start getting used to wearing jeans; they were just so different from all the kind of clothing he was used to.

He'd choose robes any day, but people here didn’t wear robes anymore. The horrible imitation of dresses was well, _horrible_ , and according to Ben only for girls. It was weird to have to assign gender to clothes, but then again people around here where very different than what he was used to.

Around seven he made his way downstairs for breakfast, running into Edward who might as well have been sleepwalking. He grabbed his hand before the man could fall down the stairs.

“Sorry.” Edward mumbled, not even bothering to throw him a good look. “Thanks.”

Maedhros courteously replied that it was nothing, and followed him down to the kitchen.


	6. And on to the trip we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang drives up tp Dunluce castle in an attempt at sightseeing while on their trip, but Maedhros is casually ambushed by an Gaelic godness who seems to know something about one of his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might take some time, since I'm leaving on holiday, but have this

Their start was Coleraine, where their house was built, and their first stop was the Dunluce Castle; which was supposed to be not a twenty minutes’ drive.

Coleraine was a very lively and busy city during the day, but that was all usually at the town’s center that Maedhros rarely -if ever- visited. Visiting would mean leaving the manor, which would mean delaying his research, which would not happen if he could help it. The sooner he found how to get back home, the better.

The drive turned out to be exactly twenty minutes, including the time it took them to cross the bridge that would leave them to the castle.

It was mostly ruins, really. It was a very awe-inspiring sight, and Maedhros guessed that it would have been even more so when it had still been standing. It didn’t look like any castles he knew; Finwë’s had been bigger, and the castles at Beleriand were built as fortresses since their job was to offer protection to their inhabitants.

It was grey, in a beautiful contrast with the place around it that was a lively green and blue as far as the eye could see; an unending valley of grass on the ancient rocks and the sea around them the colour of Fingon’s eyes. It was a deep blue, dark but not quite so, the clean colour of cerulean _blue_ in its purest form; starting from a light tone at the shores and darkening the further inside the horizon it went.

There was a slight breeze, pleasant under the midday sun that shone over them mercilessly- overall a pleasant day for sightseeing. Next to him, Molly was reciting the building’s history, having very likely learned the tour guide by heart.

“In the 13th century, it was Richard Óg de Burgh, 2nd Earl of Ulster who built the first castle at Dunluce. The first documented owner of the place is the McQuillan family -the document dates back at 1513- and they became the Lords of the Route; which was-”

“We know what the Route was.” Edward snapped, and Molly’s face fell at his tone. Tessa elbowed him in the gut, forcing him to apologize; which he did with great reluctance.

“Well, anyway,” Molly continued, forcing her voice to be cheery again, but as she talked the enthusiasm started slipping into it again, “the earliest features of the castle are two large drum towers about 9 meters in diameter on the eastern side, as you can see.”

Maedhros indeed could. The towers were probably half in size than they had been, and a big part of them -like the rest of the castle- had been eaten away by the forces of nature, and torn down by less natural means.

“The McQuillans were the Lords of Route from the late 13th century until they were displaced by the MacDonnell after losing two major battles against them during the mid- and late-16th century.” Molly continued. “The owners of the Dunluce Castle continued to alternate, within the royal Scotland Clans. Four years later, the place was issued a redecoration as the canons from the ship Spanish Armada, who was wrecked on the shores, were installed in the gatehouses. The rest of the ship’s cargo was sold in order to help restore the rest of the castle.”

“Remind me again why did we come to see a bunch of rocks.” Edward muttered darkly. He alone had been terribly opposed to coming here, and frankly, Maedhros was getting sick of his complaining. He would rather have Martha in his place, but she had stayed behind with Christopher, claiming that the elderly man would not survive a trip with a bunch of kids, but neither would he survive on his own.

“Oh, come on.” Ben muttered back. “The place is amazing! Besides, look how excited Molly is!” He said, looking over at Molly fondly. Now, Maedhros wasn’t an expert on love (quite the opposite in fact) but even he could tell that Ben held Molly in a higher regard then the rest of them.

“A local legend states that at one point, part of the kitchen next to the cliff face collapsed into the sea, after which the wife of the owner refused to live in the castle any longer.” Molly was saying. “According to a legend, when the kitchen fell into the sea, only a kitchen boy survived, as he was sitting in the corner of the kitchen which did not collapse. However, the kitchen next to the manor house is still intact. You can still see the oven, fireplace and entry ways into it. It wasn't until sometime in the 18th century that the north wall of the residence building collapsed into the sea. The east, west and south walls still stand.”

As she recounted the events, the ginger girl also pointed at the places she was talking about, so it would be easier for the rest of group to spot them.

“Dunluce Castle served as the seat of the Earl of Antrim until the impoverishment of the MacDonnells in 1690, following the Battle of the Boyne. Since that time, the castle has deteriorated and parts were scavenged to serve as materials for nearby buildings.”

“That’s very interesting.” Maedhros noted, and Molly beamed at him.

Ben proceeded to ask Molly something about the ruins, and Edward went to sit at one of the rocks, a defeated look in his face. Tessa laughed at him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” She asked, suddenly next to him. They were both looking down at the water body below; the colour of the waves a silvery line below the sun. “The sea?”

“Indeed, it is.” Maedhros agreed. As Tessa walked away to join the sulking Edward, Maedhros looked back down at the shores, and a desire rose inside him to walk among them; like the tales said his brother did. He abandoned the others without a second thought, certain it would take him only a little while; he might even be back before they realized he was gone.

It took him a while, and much caution to climb down, but for someone accustomed to the rocky terrain of Himring, the descend did not pose any sort of challenge. The sand shimmered golden under his feet, and the puffing of the waves against it was like a nostalgic childhood lullaby.

“Fancy place to be alone with your thoughts, no?”

Maedhros whipped around at the voice; he had not heard anyone come behind him. It belonged to a woman, around his age- or more accurately the age he looked like he was, and at first glance seemed completely mundane. But then she stepped closer, and Maedhros studied her better, and realized this was not the case.

Her hair were long and black, thick wet curls stuck on her face, almost white at places from the sea salt; and hiding a pair of pointy ears. They weren’t pointy like his, just at the top, but rather the entire ear was long, easily visible as it appeared sideways from her head. She was barefoot, wearing a ripped blue dress that clung to her wet tights like glue, battered and ruined by the ocean. Her eyes were an abnormal, other-worldly blue colour, that seemed to emit a pale light from her sockets; it was a blue so pale it was almost white, empty and without any life.

“Who are you?” He demanded, reaching for his sword and inwardly cursing as his hand met empty air; he hadn’t taken the sword with him.

“Don’t you recognize me, brother dear?” The woman inquired with curiosity. The suggestion was so abrupt that Maedhros laughed.

“No offence, my lady, but you are not Maglor.”

“No, I’m not.” The woman admitted. “But in this world, this universe, I’m the closest thing to Maglor you’re going to get.”

At this, Maedhros raised an eyebrow, but hid his surprise otherwise, keeping his face carefully blank. “How so?” He demanded.

“Ah, but where are all my manners?” The woman joked- or at least to Maedhros it looked like she was joking. “I’m Cerridwen.”

The name tugged at a corner of his mind, and Maedhros searched his memory, trying to recall where he knew it from.

“The Welsh goodness of the moon.” He said finally, with some surprise. “As well as the grain and nature; the patron godness of poets, the greatest of all bards.”

“Someone’s done their homework.” Cerridwen laughed. Her laugher was like her; high-pitched like bells chiming together, and it had an other-worldliness to it. “Yes, that’s me.”

“And what do you have to do with my brother?” Maedhros asked, genuinely confused, and genuinely annoyed when the godness rolled her eyes at him.

“Hello? Patron of poets? Greatest of all bards? Rings a bell?” She demanded, and then sighed when he looked at her blankly. “Isn’t your brother the greatest of all bards in your universe?”

Something like realization flickered in Maedhros’ eyes. “Well, he was in Valinor, but then according to the Sinda-”

“He’s the best because I like him more.” Cerridwen snapped suddenly, and Maedhros raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Let Aibell disagree all she wants.”

“Alright.” Maedhros amended. “But pray tell, why are you here?”

“Okay, look.” Cerridwen sighed again. “It’s like- you studied Norse mythology, didn’t you?” At Maedhros’ nod, she nodded back. “Okay, so remember the legend of Yggdrasil? The tree who connects the realms together? The world is something like that. The universes are all connected with each other through energy. Not in the form of a tree, but you get my point.”

“I do.” Maedhros agreed, and he really did see her point.

“Great!” Cerridwen looked pleased. “And so sometimes, the energy that belongs to the soul of a person, can be eerily similar in different universes; imagine that a different you exists in every dimension. I’m Maglor here, or at least, the part of him that’s a musician almost as powerful as a Maia- is that what you call your deities?”

“Yes, I suppose you could them that.” Maedhros said thoughtfully. “But why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?” Cerridwen countered. “Why is everyone anywhere? I wander around and I ended up here, and my soul energy knows yours because you’re my brother somewhere else. I’m not sure if you only have an alternate self in Gaelic mythology, or in other mythologies as well, but I guess we’re never going to find out so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, but there are millions of different people in this universe.” Maedhros pointed. “Why aren’t I an edain; why a god?”

“Excuse me, have you seen you?” Cerridwen asked. “You’re an elf; your soul is powerful enough to be seen from _miles_ away, no human can come remotely close to that kind of power.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Maedhros amended.

“Glad I could help.” Cerridwen said, but Maedhros couldn’t distinguish whether the sentiment in her voice was sarcasm or something else. “Oh, and Maedhros? I’m here because I had to tell you something you needed to hear.”

And that was the last thing she said before she disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke with a gentle pop. Maedhros was left staring at the empty air she left behind. And useful as all of this was, he wasn’t sure exactly _what_ of all this he needed to hear.

“MAEDHROS!” Tessa’s voice called from above. “WE’RE LEAVING!”

“I’M COMING!” He yelled back, and with one last glance at the sea, as if he expected Cerridwen to come back and clarify what she was talking about, Maedhros turned around and started climbing up the path again.


	7. I would like to leave this city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giant's Causeway, another magic godness finds Maedhros and revelations are made about a certain member of the group

After the unexpectable encounter with the weird godness -which Maedhros recounted to his friends, all of whom agreed that none of it made sense- they decided to head to Bushmills to refill their supplies before going to their final destination.

“Right, so, we’re here.” Tessa announced once she pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket in the south suburbs of Bushmills. It was her turn behind the wheel this time, and so she had decided that they weren’t going to spend the night in town, but rather take turns driving all night. Needless to say, no one was thrilled.

“Just grab what you need and let’s get out of here.” She continued, getting out of the car as the rest followed just a step behind her. “Please don’t get lost in the supermarket again.” The last comment was directed to Ben.

“I don’t understand why we’re in such a hurry.” Edward complained. Maedhros didn’t understand either, but it hadn’t escaped his attention that Tessa’s sudden rash was only after he had recounted them his encounter with Cerridwen on the beach. She was more interesting that she had been letting on, but Maedhros didn’t know what to make of it.

“I just don’t want to pay for accommodations when it’s not really necessary.” Tessa defended.

“Since when, _yesterday?_ ” Edward muttered, but Molly silenced him with a glare. “Do you think Mae should take a turn driving?” four heads turned to him in bewilderment. “What?”

“I don’t know how to drive.” Maedhros pointed out. “And neither does it seem appealing.”

“It was just a suggestion.” Edward shrugged. “Might be useful in the future.”

“My world doesn’t have cars.” Maedhros rolled his eyes at the surprised look he got in reply.

“How do you move around?”

“That’s what the horses are for. Not to mention we have _feet._ ”

“I imagine inventing cars wouldn’t be the first thing to do when you got back.” Molly smiled kindly at him.

Maedhros snorted. “As if.”

“Alright, come on, I need to buy food.” Tessa said. “I’m starved.”

The visit to the supermarket consisted of Molly putting Edward’s candies back in the shelves, searching for Ben only to find him staring at a corridor in confusion and a very insistent Tessa repeating them to _“just get this over with!”._ In the end they ended up back in the car, with bags of chips and a variety of food that Maedhros had never seen before in his life- which was fairly long.

“It’s fast food. And snacks.” Ben said, his mouth with something that contained chocolate. “Don’t tell me you never had any.”

“Errr… not really.” Maedhros admitted, startled at Ben’s shock.

“Dude, you need to try these.” He said, extending his bag to the redhead. “They’re delicious.”

“Maybe later.” Maedhros forced a smile, eyeing the contents of the plastic bag with suspicion. He wasn’t too keen to try them.

He must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing he knew, Molly was gently shaking him awake. Maedhros almost hit her as he woke up with a start.

“My apologies-”

“It’s fine.” Molly waved him off before he could even finish. “Look, we’re here!”

Maedhros got out of the car and looked around him. The Giant’s Causeway was much more impressive up close. The sea around the place was as blue as that around the Dunlace castle had been, hitting on the rocks that surrounded it.

From afar they looked like pebbles, placed one upon the other as far as they eye could see, but walking closer, Maedhros saw that the rocks were large; some maybe as large as small human. There was a certain air of power radiating around the place, Maedhros felt it like small prickles upon his skin, but he couldn’t identify it.

It wasn’t anything he had ever felt before, not even at the beach the previous day (or at least Maedhros guessed that it had been only a day- he couldn’t tell how long they had been driving.)

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Edward asked. “Because the only thing I see is rocks. Again.”

“Oh, Ed, I’m so glad you asked!” Molly beamed, and Maedhros could tell from the smirk in Ben’s face, that nothing good awaited Edward. “The history of this place is just _lovely._ ”

Edward groaned just as Maedhros laughed, both realizing what Molly had in mind. “Please, don’t. Look, I’m sorry for the castle thing-” Edward pleaded to no avail.

Molly started to explain the legend that Maedhros had read a few weeks ago himself, and he blocked out her voice to search around. Nothing looked particularly intriguing or familiar in any way, and Maedhros had no choice but to just look around since he didn’t know what he was searching for, either.

“In overall Irish mythology, Fionn mac Cumhaill is not a giant but a hero with supernatural abilities, contrary to what this particular legend may suggest.” Molly was still saying. “For example, in _Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry_ -written in 1888- it is noted that, over time, "the pagan gods of Ireland [...] grew smaller and smaller in the popular imagination, until they turned into the fairies; the pagan heroes grew bigger and bigger, until they turned into the giants".”

The brunette was moving on to the Cristian part of the myth, and Maedhros dared to walk away from his small company again. He approached the stones that were closer to the water; he couldn’t help but marvel at the way they were made, almost crafted there, one would say. A bright glimpse caught his eye, but as he turned his head around to get a better look at it, something prickled at the back of his mind.

“So you _are_ here.” Standing right in front of him was a woman, even though Maedhros was sure he hadn’t blinked; there was nothing there before, and she seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

She looked nothing like Cerridwen, but Maedhros had already had enough of this to be fooled into thinking she was just a tourist. The white extensive gown gave it away, if nothing else.

“Which godness are you?” He asked with a sigh.

“Caer Ibormeith.” The woman replied. Her hair was chopped short under her ears; much like Maedhros’ had been in Beleriand, and everything on her seemed to be white -hair, clothes, even her eyes were completely white. “The godness of sleep and dreams if you recall from the myths.” Maedhros frowned, but she answered his question before he could say it. “Yes, this is a dream. Doesn’t mean what I’m going to say isn’t true.”

“What’s with this sudden interest in me?” He demanded.

“You’re not from this world.” Caer told him. “It’s just normal that we would like to make sure that you aren’t a threat. You are, of course,” she continued, “but it doesn’t matter.”

“I thought you said it _did_ matter?” Maedhros drew his eyebrows together out of habit.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” The godness shrugged. The lack of irises in her eyes took all the sentiment from them and looking at her was more than a little unnerving. Not to mention that Maedhros was almost sure she was glowing.

“That is my intention, yes.”

“Which means that if I offer you my help, then you will leave faster, isn’t that right?” Caer asked in a matter-of-fact tone that made her sentence more of a statement than a question.

“Your friend already tried to help me, but her words didn’t make much sense.” Maedhros pointed out.

“Who, Cerridwen?” Caer frowned, the expression even more peculiar without eyes; the glow around her shone so much that Maedhros wasn’t able to decipher her face clearly. “My help is more straightforward than hers.”

Maedhros almost said _“I certainly hope so,”_ but bit the remark back in time.

“All I have on the matter is that if you want to get out of this world, all you have to do is ask your friend, Tessa.”

This time Maedhros was almost sure those godnesses showed up just to make fun of him. “What on earth would Tessa have to do with any of this? She’s human!”

“Is she?” Caer asked, a smirk in her voice. “You’re unfamiliar with our power, and you cannot distinguish gods from humans.”

“Right. Tessa is a godness too.” Maedhros snorted.

“Of course she is!” Caer exclaimed, seeming pleased that Maedhros was understanding her; he guessed the godness couldn’t tell he was being sarcastic. “Why do you think she wanted to leave the place as fast as possible when Cerridwen showed up? These two are _not_ friends, take my word for it.”

Maedhros couldn’t deny that she had a point there. Tessa’s hurry to leave Dunlace was confusing at best, and it had manifested as soon as Maedhros told them what happened at the beach.

“And which godness would she be?” Maedhros decided to give Caer Ibormeith the benefit of the doubt, if only to let him go.

“Her real name is Arianrhood.” Caer said. “I trust you know which godness she is?

Maedhros indeed knew. Arianrhood was the welsh godness of air and full moons, the deity of karma, time and reincarnation. The light emitting from the Caer Ibormeith suddenly went so bright that Maedhros had to close his eyes against it.

When he opened them again he was laying at the stones half inside the water, with the concerned faces of his four friends standing over him.

“Please tell me it wasn’t another godness.” Tessa said, her guess suspiciously accurate for someone who had no clue to what happened to him.


End file.
